


Marked For Greatness

by laughablyunimportant



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bar Room Brawl, Bath House Bonding, Bath Houses, Belonging, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Child Neglect, Drowning, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Found Family, Gen, Inappropriate Friendly Nudity, Multi, One Shot, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Self-Mutilation, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Team as Family, War Mage Caleb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 17:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughablyunimportant/pseuds/laughablyunimportant
Summary: Not everyone has a soulmark. And those who do sometimes have very good reasons for hiding them.These reasons tend to fade away in the face of a very determined tiefling in search of a good bath."I just find it's easier to have this conversation when everyone's sitting around naked in hot water."





	1. Alone

It’s a while before Mollymauk thinks to look for his soulmark.

He can hardly be blamed. He only just decided on a name this morning; he has a few more important things to figure out than who he shares a destiny with. Like, for example, who the fuck he is. 

The hand mirror he borrows from Desmond isn’t big, but he manages to get a decent look at most of his skin.

The trouble isn’t that he can’t find a mark. The trouble is, he has no idea which, if any, of his tattoos are the artsy kind, or the fates entwined kind. He pokes and prods at a few, but nothing sets one apart from the others. For all he knows, he doesn’t have a mark at all. Plenty of people don’t. He just thought, for some reason, he would.

He lets out a sigh. Well. It didn’t matter now. If there was some other piece of himself out there, waiting for him to find, they’d just have to get off their ass and do the legwork themselves.

____________________________________

“Are you hurt?”

Nott looks up, startled. The human is looking at her, brow creased just slightly. She still hasn’t asked his name.

“No!” she says, jumping up. “No, I’m fine! Did you want to keep going? I can keep going.”

“Nein,” the human says, settling himself down on the ground. “No. We could both use the rest, I think. I was just curious about--” he motions his hand up beside his head, flapping it a bit, and it takes Nott a moment to catch his meaning. 

“Oh!” she says, hands automatically clamping over her bandaged left ear, tugging it down.

_A mark? What kind of Goblin has a mark?_

_Someone to care about. Someone who **loves** you. You think that makes you special? All it makes you is weak. _

_You deserve whatever you get out there. You stay here, you’ll betray us all someday, sure as that brand you bear._

“It’s, it’s uhm, my ears, they stick out and they get...cold?”

The human looks at her a moment. Nott holds her breath, heart thundering in her chest, wondering if this is the moment he’ll leave, if this is the moment she’ll go back to being alone. 

“We should get you a cloak,” he finally says. “One with a hood. You can tuck your ears inside, try to avoid trouble.”

She lets out a sigh of relief, releasing the ear she’d been twisting in her hand. “A cloak,” she says, “a cloak would be wonderful. That’s such a good idea.”

The human looks away, staring out into the woods around them. He lifts one shoulder, then lets it drop. “It will make it easier to survive if we don’t attract attention.” His lips quirk up, just a bit. “And it’ll keep your ears warm. Ja?”

“Yeah,” Nott says, liking the sound of ‘we.’ She settles to the ground, slow, waiting to see if the human objects. 

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t object to one single thing about Nott, and that’s…

That’s good. That’s really, really good. 

Her hand slips around her ear as she lays down to sleep, giving the offending bit of cartilage a firm squeeze. If her other half is like this human...well. Maybe being marked won’t be so bad.

____________________________________

The rescue isn’t instantaneous.

He’d thought magic was...well, magical. Wasn’t it supposed to be easy? Wasn’t it supposed to grant wishes with some fancy words and snapping fingers?

He makes a deal with something from the unfathomable deep, and instead of deliverance, he finds himself twenty feet under, lungs burning and a stabbing pain in his chest. But there’s a renewed strength to his limbs, and this time, he knows which way is up. 

He makes it to the surface. 

Choking, gasping, going under again and again, he makes it to the shore. 

Every foot he manages to claw his way up the beach is torture. His fingers sink into wet sand, pull, push, yank his legs out of sinking wet muck, plant them into more muck, push, grab, pull. Waves crashing against his back, heartbeat thudding in his ears, his world is salt and exhaustion and that stabbing sensation that refuses to settle down into a comfortable ache. 

He makes it far enough up the beach to avoid being washed out or buried by the tide, and passes out. 

He wakes to a still burning chest. 

He cranes his head down to see what the _fuck_ hurts so much, and feels his breath catch. 

Oh. _Oh_. His mark. It’s glowing.

He put his hand over it, over his heart, and feels a heat, building under his skin, burning, _searing_ , he pulls his hand away and feels something come with it, something that _hurts_ , that’s sunk barbs into him, tearing, something that shouldn’t be torn but it hurts, stars above it _hurts_ , yanks at it--

it comes free.

He opens his eyes to find a blade in his hand. A falchion, though he’s not sure how he knows that. 

_Right. Magic shit._

He passes out again.

____________________________________

“Didn’t think you had one of those,” Ornna says.

Yasha puts a hand over the back of her neck, turning to give the performer a _look_.

“I’m not giving you any shit about it,” Ornna protests. 

“I’m not sure why you’re giving me anything about it,” Yasha says. 

Ornna rolls her eyes. “I get you have this whole strong silent type thing going on, but you can drop the act behind the curtain, alright? Just us back here.”

“And when are you going to drop your act?” Yasha asks.

Ornna narrows her eyes. “Fine,” she says. “Keep it to yourself, I don’t give a fuck.” She storms out of the tent, but Yasha can still hear a muttered “ _Bitch_ ” carried on the wind.

Yasha stares after her, letting her palm rest against the back of her neck a moment longer before slowly lowering it to her side.

____________________________________

“Mom?”

Jester’s mother blinks, focusing again on Jester, mouth curving into a smile. “Yes dear?”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” The question is quiet. Jester regrets asking it immediately. But her mom keeps staring at her, like she’s looking right through her. And Jester...Jester would very much like to be seen.

“What could I be keeping from you?” her mother asks, voice light as she resumes finger-combing through Jester’s hair. 

“I don’t know,” Jester answers. “A lot of stuff, probably.”

Her mother gives a throaty laugh, resting one hand on Jester’s shoulderblade, thumb tracing a pattern on her back again and again. “The Ruby of the Sea keeps many secrets,” she intones. “But the most precious of all is my little sapphire.” She leans forward, planting a kiss to the crown of Jester’s head before wrapping her in a hug. Jester giggles, leaning back into the embrace. 

“My little sapphire,” her mother repeats, squeezing Jester to her chest. “My hidden treasure.”

Her mother’s breath is warm against her ear, and Jester lets herself pretend, just for a while, that this is enough.

____________________________________

The barkeep is staring at Beau.

Her hair’s different. Her clothes are a different style. She doesn’t speak like she’s Cobalt, doesn’t walk like it, sure as hell doesn’t act like it. 

But she’s three ales deep, and the barkeep won’t stop staring at her.

She waves them over. “Thinking of doing some traveling,” she says. “Seeing a bit of the world before I settle down. Got any suggestions? Places I should visit?”

The barkeep gives her a slow, appraising look--but not the fun kind. “That’s an interesting mark you’ve got,” they say, and Beau freezes. “Not many people take the trouble to show one off, ‘specially in such a tricky spot.”

Her mark. Her _fucking_ mark. 

Not for the first time, Beau regrets the cockiness of her past actions. Brazenly showing off a soulmark was all well and good when you wanted to buck decorum, but a little less good when you were on the fucking run.

“What’s it to you?” Beau demands, standing so suddenly she knocks her stool over with a clatter. The murmur of conversation dies down, and she gets the feeling she just drew a whole lot more attention. _Shit_. 

“Just making conversation,” the barkeep says, hands up. 

“Right,” Beau says, letting her shoulders drop. “Touchy subject. Kind of personal.”

The barkeep gives her a slow nod, and the tension in the room seems to ratchet down a notch. “So, traveling,” they say, swiping a rag across the bar. “I hear Zadash is nice.”

She pauses in the middle of picking up her knocked over stool, sees the barkeep peering at her over the bar, looking for her reaction. She glances over at the door, and suppresses a groan when she sees some big and burly blocking the way.

She comes up with the stool in hand and launches it straight at the barkeep. They drop, seeming to anticipate her move, and yell “Grab her!”

Well. She wasn’t looking for a fight, but she’ll take one, if they insist.

But next time? Next time, she’s going to cover up that _fucking_ mark.

____________________________________

Something they don’t tell you in books: The smell of human flesh burning isn’t worse than any other meat.

Something else: Your mouth will still water at the idea of food, real food, even as your stomach heaves.

Caleb bites down on the bit of cloth in his mouth, clenching his teeth against the scream that wants to boil its way out of him, against the bile that wants to follow. He is no stranger to fire, Caleb Widowgast, but even after all the things he’s seen, been in the thick of, he has rarely felt more than the tender lick of flames in his palm before turning it outward, turning it into a weapon. 

Fire is a force of nature with no alignment. It is only mortals who try to channel it into a killer.

He bites down on his bit of cloth and presses his hand to the front of his thigh and _does not scream_ , not where they still might hear him, not where they might find him still and drag him to the front and he might give in because it is so, so much easier not to think. To go where they tell him, burn what they tell him, and _not think_.

He tries not to think about what he is doing, now. Tries not to think about another person out there, somewhere, with a mark just like his was, under the skin gone shiny and twisted like melted wax, a mark that promised their destinies were linked, fates entwined. 

Would they thank him, if they knew? Would they be glad, to have mourned what could have been, instead of meeting what was? What is?

 _What he is_. What he is, is a fugitive. What he is, is on the run. He cannot afford to have identifying marks. Cannot afford to have connections he won’t shed, like so much unwanted clothing. He will cloak himself in grime and stink and scars if he has to. _He will not go back_. 

And he will not drag someone there with him.

____________________________________


	2. Together

It’s Jester that finally interrupts the silence between them.

“You _guuuys_ ,” she says, the wet slap skin on stone punctuating her foot stomp. “Are you going to just make eyes at each other all day, or are we going to go make some money?”

Beau’s slow to break the impromptu staring contest she’s settled into with Yasha, but once her eyes flick over to Jester, they get stuck there. “Jester,” she says. “You’re naked.”

“No duh,” Jester says, hands on her hips, making absolutely no attempt at covering up. “We are at a bathhouse, in case you forgot.” She sticks her tongue out.

“Yeah, but you’re just, all out there.”

Jester looks down at herself, nose scrunching. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Across from Beau, the water ripples out as Yasha finally stands, climbing the steps out of the bath. And now that the moment’s come, Beau can’t even bring herself to sneak a look, not with Jester right there to notice (and probably comment). 

She reluctantly averts her gaze, hauling herself up out of the bath on her side without benefit of steps, grabbing the towel she’d thought to bring from the changing room. 

“Oh, Yasha, you have a tattoo too! It’s not as pretty as Molly’s are though. Did you get them together? Because I think they might have cheated you.”

Beau whips around at that, almost tripping, but all she catches is Yasha dropping her hair, which she’d been wringing out over the bath. Her eyes dip to Yasha’s breasts and catch for a moment before she remembers herself and tears her gaze away, settling instead on Jester’s back.

Her eyes go wide. 

“Your soulmark!” she yells, entirely too loud. 

“Is that what that is?” Jester asks, tilting her head, still looking at Yasha. 

“No!” Beau shouts. “I mean, yes! I mean,” she scrabbles at her towel, bunching it up and moving it around until she’s exposed her left hip. “Look!”

Jester turns to look, peering at the patch of skin Beau’s exposed. “Oh, you have one too!” she exclaims, clasping her hands together in delight. 

“You’re my soulmate,” Beau says, though she seems to be losing volume as shock creeps in.

Jester scrunches her nose. “Don’t be silly, Beau. I don’t have a soulmark.”

“You do,” Yasha says, looking at a point between Jester’s shoulder blades and a few inches down. “On your back.”

“What!!” Jester yelps, and immediately cranes her neck, spinning in circles as she tries to see.

“You’re my soulmate,” Beau repeats, sounding dazed. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“What’s all the noise?” Molly pokes his head out from behind the screen leading to the changing rooms.

Beau makes an inarticulate yelp, pulling her towel tighter around her and throwing a glare his way.

“Oh come now, we’re all friends here.”

“Molly!” Jester yells, bounding over to him. “I have a soulmark!” She turns around, presenting it to him.

“Why, yes you do dear. Congratulations.” He glances at Yasha, trying to gauge what all’s going on, and finds her already looking his way, something unreadable in her eyes.

“Are you guys coming?” Nott says, peaking back in. “Fjord and Caleb are already dressed.”

“In a moment,” Molly says, still trying to figure Yasha out. “It seems our Jester has discovered something about herself.”

Jester, beaming, turns to show Nott the mark (still craning her neck to try to get a look herself), and Nott

_screams_. 

She rushes at Jester, leaping up onto the tiefling’s back, screaming “No! No, no!” as she rips off her own cloak, pressing it to Jester’s back.

Beau doesn’t think, drops her towel as she ducks in close, trying to grab ahold of one of Nott’s limbs, getting a kick to the face for her trouble. Molly’s in there somewhere, ignoring Nott’s claws raking lines of blood across his arms and chest as he wraps an arm around her middle. “A little help?” he yells at Beau, who scowls at him before ducking back in, finally getting her off Jester.

“The fuck?” she demands, as Jester says “Ow, ow ow ow” in the background, running fingers across the welts Nott left on her skin.

“You can’t have those,” Nott wails, still struggling weakly in Molly’s arms. Her yellow eyes are large and wet, pupils narrowed to slits. “You can’t have them, you’ll get in trouble, you can’t let anyone see, no one can see, you’ll get in trouble--”

“Nott,” Molly says, voice gentle. “What’s this on your ear?”

She freezes, silence ringing in the chamber for one moment, before letting out a wail of despair and curling up, both hands clamped over her left ear, for once free of bandages. “No,” she moans, “No, please, please.”

Molly drops her in surprise at the sudden change in demeanor. Like a cat, Nott uncurls as she falls, landing on all fours and dashing away before any of them can catch her. 

“Well,” Molly says. “That was interesting.” He looks to Jester, giving her a wry smile. “It seems Nott is your soulmate.”

“The fuck?!” Beau says, sounding significantly less angry and significantly more incredulous.

Molly shrugs. “I didn’t get the longest look at it, but I was certainly close. It matched Jester’s perfectly. Can’t say I’m that surprised; they do get along remarkably well. Though it looks like Nott will have some issues to work out first. ”

“But that’s _my_ mark,” Beau says, slapping a hand on her hip in demonstration, then going red as she remembers her state of undress. 

Molly stares a long, uncomfortable moment. “Huh,” he finally says. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“That’s what I said!”

“This is wonderful!” (the still naked) Jester shouts, wrapping (the still naked) Beau up in a hug. “You and me and Nott, together forever and ever and ever!”

“And Molly,” Yasha says.

“Pardon?” Molly whips around to look at Yasha, but her expression is still inscrutable.

“You have the same mark,” she says, tapping her forearm. “Embedded in the snake scales.”

He gives her a puzzled look before examining his own forearm. “I don’t--” The color seems to drain out of him. “Oh. Oh fuck.” He glances around briefly, locating a seat and making is way over to it before sinking down heavily, eyes fixed on his arm. “Fuck.”

“Nope,” Beau says. “Nope, nope nope nope nope. This. This is not happening.” Her hand is gesturing helplessly between herself and Molly. 

“I wonder if Fjord has one!” Jester exclaims, before running off in the same direction as Nott had.

“Nope, nope nope nope nope!” Beau shouts, snatching her towel back up as she runs after her. 

Molly feels Yasha sit next to him, after a moment.

“Yours is all twisty and puckered!” Jester’s voice echoes back to them from somewhere out towards the front of the establishment. “What did you do to it?”

“Did you always know that was my mark?” Molly asks. His voice mostly doesn’t shake.

“Yes,” Yasha says. She turns her head, just a bit, and lifts her hair again.

“Well,” Molly says. 

She drops her hair and looks at him. “Well?”

“You _burned_ it? Why would you do a stupid thing like that?”

“Well,” Molly says, swallowing. “I suppose we better join our…”

Words escape him.

But, Yasha has never been much for words. She stands, extending a hand out to help Molly up on still unsteady legs.

“I’m glad,” he says after the locker room, heading out to join the others (who, by the sound of it, are all part of this remarkable union). “About you. Too. Not sure what I would have done if you’d left me with this lot.”

“Make them love you,” comes Yasha’s ready answer. He looks up at her, searching for the punchline, but she’s staring straight ahead, the faint hint of a smile on her lips. “It’s what you did with me.”

“Where’s this charmer been hiding?” Molly chides, but his voice is thick with emotion. It takes him a while to work up to the next question. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yasha hums, a rumble against his side. “It didn’t feel complete.”

“And now?” he asks, the rest of the Nein coming into view as they round the corner. Nott is cringing as she allows a reverent Caleb to run his fingers over her ear, while Jester pinches and pulls at the exposed bit of Fjord’s chest, trying to mash it into the appropriate state. Beau leans against her side, one hand resting cautiously at the small of Jester’s back, making the occasional sarcastic comment. 

“Now,” Yasha says, “It does.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [DragonBandit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonBandit/pseuds/DragonBandit/works) for listening to and encouraging my rambles.


End file.
